Poetic Injustice
by Late to the Party
Summary: One final encounter with Saemon Haevarian and tying up some loose ends. A monologue. One-shot AU. Part VI of the 'Woulda-Coulda-Shoulda' Series. (Series finale)


"You know, I like to consider myself a decent person. I returned that greenstone ring to that poor young widow in Nashkel; I healed and carried Samuel, a deserter from the Flaming Fist all the way to the Friendly Arm Inn – that was a long journey. I helped that twit of a nobleman who was being chased over a bridge by a cave bear. I even helped that drow, whatever her name was, which might have been a mistake. But you, you Saemon Havarian, you I am going to kill. I am going to cut your heart out and feed you to the fishes. And do you know why? Because you, like so many others in this godsdamned 'city', like Sarevok and all the rest along my path, you think I'm an idiot. You think that you can just do whatever you want and everything will be fine and dandy. But let me tell you something, Saemon, I was hunted by assassins since before I had to flee from my home with just the clothes on my back.

"Assassins, Saemon. I met them in every roadside inn, every turn in the road, every new town, hamlet and village. That's how it felt. And you know what I learnt? Never trust the food you eat, the ale you drink. Always, always cast wards, always carry antidotes, and always keep your eyes open.

"You'd think that being jumped once was enough to teach anyone, but no, no you just had to try your luck. Well, guess what they call me in the north? You want to take a guess? The Terror of the Sword Coast. Not 'the terrible', not 'the great', not 'the wise', or 'the dashingly good looking and handsome', no, they call me 'The Terror'. Just like you, others thought to push me. Like that idiot Gaelen, like that fool Eldoth, who thought he could manipulate and abuse a girl, a girl no older than Imoen, like that windbag Cernd, who thought that he could bully Faldorn, Faldorn who was a good and kind friend to me for so long and a noble warrior from a proud lineage; and those wicked fishermen who wanted to hurt Tenya, a child. But you, Saemon, you are one of the worst. You profit off misery and laugh, setting up traps and snares. You delight in the havoc you cause, riding its waves and making light of it, as though I should laugh along with you. What were you expecting? 'Oh classic Saemon'.

"You and Eldoth are cut from the same cloth. Speaking of cutting… I believe this is the point where I say something along the lines of 'let's end this', or 'let this end' and you try to teleport away, laughing as you go.

"…What's that? You can't. Odd, isn't it? It's amazing what a djinn will do for his freedom. Holding onto a flask… it's funny how our foes tend to give us the means to destroy them. You who would destroy me by placing this sword in our packs. Did you think we wouldn't notice that such a 'gift' would be a trap? Do you really think I am so ignorant that I have not read about the Githyanki?

"How about the Illithid? No? Well, let me tell you something Saemon, a little anecdote that I've carried with me since I was forced out of my home: my foster father said something right before he was cut down before my eyes: 'You're a fool if you think I trust your benevolence'. That was a lesson right there, his last to me. You, the Shadow Thieves, Bodhi, just about everyone I've met takes me for a fool thinking that I trust your benevolence.

"You poisoned my food and I allowed you to deliver me to your master. You gave me a sword belonging to the Githyanki, a sword you had stolen, and I allowed it, and now, here we are, in the midst of a mercenary camp and you, you smuggling merchant of misery, are bound and held fast. Because I can poison food just as well as you can. Because I happen to have access to magic too. Because I happen to have studied the Art, gathered weapons and tools from the strongholds of my oppressors, and I know when and how to use them. So yes, Saemon, here you are, bound by the power of a Djinn, dimensionally anchored, and I am going to petrify you, toss your statue into my bag of holding, restore you to flesh, cut out your heart and feed you to a pool of illithid tadpoles. And just in case you think you can utter some incantation, activate some kind of item, I'm taking your clothes, I'm cutting your vocal cords, and then, then you are going to die. You will serve as a reminder, an example, to everyone who comes after you of exactly what happens when you thrive off misery.

"Because here's the thing, you 'loveable rogue', you are worse than Irenicus. His soul was taken, his 'humanity' drained away, he was a golem, a construct, a broken, shattered hollow vessel whose only remnant was his need to survive, a need that manifested as ambition and power. In the end, Irenicus was nothing, cold and dead. But you? You had a choice. Even Yoshimo showed regret at the end, even Tamoko. Even Sarevok. Mulahey was filled with fear, his bloated face filled with terror, his stupid-like eyes desperately searching as he bled out like a stuck pig. In death, he stumbled away from me, grateful I had not destroyed whatever soul he had left. But you? You have never uttered one iota of repentance, only laughed. And now, it's too late. Terrified? You should be.

"I had a saying, once. 'Always kill the mouthy one, that's what I always say'. But you know? It's good to express how you're feeling, to just let it all out. And you Saemon? You can take solace in the fact that your useless, worthless existence will finally do something good. As you know, I am a Bhaalspawn, and me and Jaheira, Sarevok and I, we've all had these long chats late into the night discussing 'nature vs. nurture', free will over destiny. That tadpole that chews its way through your brain? I'm going to raise it as my own, teach it to be more than its nature, and I'm going to do it in the one place where my will actually counts for more than just words. My own little slice of hell. As a matter of fact, I already have everything ready. Surprise! Thought you might just have time to escape, engineer some dastardly, daring plan. Too bad for you.

"See, there's one other thing you should probably know. During my time roaming through this land, I freed a whole bunch of slaves, both on the surface and those as Illithid thralls. And on those thralls, there were collars, collars that bent them to their will. Collars that I took, just as I took the tadpoles. That djinn I mentioned, the one whose flask I have? He thought he could cheat me, pawn me off with some trinket instead of restoring all that was mine. So I kept the flask and let him reside within it. He must have thought I'd forgotten about him given all my assorted 'junk'. Imagine the surprise on his face when I clamped a control collar on him. Imagine how much more power simply flowed into my fingers when I could simply wish and wish and wish.

"And you know what I wish for more than anything else? Justice. That's right, Havarian, justice. And you know what else I wished for? This." Čĥäȑȵάmë's eyes darkened and he waved his hand. The apparent desert stronghold with its mercenary camp, the walls and wells, tents and stalls, houses, heat, sky and sand all fell away. In its place stood a darkened chamber with a set of glowing pools; within one of those pools tadpoles glistened, their roving shadows dancing on the walls.

"I wasn't actually going to cut your cords and give you a chance to flee. But it was fun to make you squirm. Maybe that's petty of me. You're probably smart enough to realise that I wished for you to be here, wished that this place would be immune to planar shifts – except those allowed by me, and well," The corner of Čĥäȑȵάmë's mouth twitched. "maybe it isn't so much justice as _poetic justice_. But I am still going to feed you to the tadpoles. Happy snacking, child of mine." The last was directed to the pool. Any second now the paralysis spell would wear off and Havarian would be free to move.

Of course, there was board Havarian was placed upon, a literal wooden plank. Somehow, it just seemed fitting. A brilliant, thin ray of green shot from Čĥäȑȵάmë's hand and the plank was no more, reduced to dust. There was a splash.

"And that's the last name on my list. For now." He sighed and buffed his fingernails against his red wyrm scale mail. This particular misdeed was going to see a lot of gilding for the temples. After all, it didn't really hurt to adhere to Jaheira's 'balance' every once in a while. Not that any of the temples needed any more gilding. Even that hovel of Nashkel's was so coated it could have solved the Iron Crisis all by itself. Maybe he should ascend when the last of his kindred fell and then he, too, could coat his temples in gold. "I mean, what else is one going to do with how many dragons' hoards? Eight?" He'd lost count. Probably not as many as that.

"Hey, djinn of the flask… I think I'd like to donate of my reserve, oh, let's see, one hundred and fifty thousand to… Ilmatar. In Athkatla. In… memory of Yoshimo. Yes, I do wish it. If nine hundred gold in Nashkel is a small fortune, then a hundred and fifty should house and feed many orphans. Yes, yes, yes, I know, you are limited in your might. No, far be it from me to actually take away the agency of others and deny them the opportunity to grow and overcome. We've had this conversation before. I don't wish for orphanages because your kind can't be trusted to follow the spirit of my intent; indeed, your kind has no integrity. So, we keep it simple. Simple, simple, simple. Gold for the temple out of my reserve; wards for my demiplane. Foes brought to various locations. See, simple. Now, did you acquire those Illefarn song portals-lookalikes from Irenicus' little lair where we first met? Portal-to-portal, in various rooms? You remember how I want to expand my little slice of the hells, don't you? I think it's about time I visited those dryads and their trees. It may be the abyss, but trees just bring something that nothing else can.

"And now, djinn of the flask, I think it's about time I paid a little visit to your brethren from Tradesmeet – kindly summon them, would you? The… fourth chamber from the first time, I think; the one where Sarevok's wraith and I had a little chat before that vexing Solar appeared. You were there. You know exactly what I'm talking about.

"And where is that djinn who offered me 'Black Razor' lurking…? I know he's around here somewhere…" Čĥäȑȵάmë paused. "Now I'm feeling like the great weight from my list is gone, I think I'm ready to face my 'inner demons' again. Fancy helping me out this time? And yes, we shall summon Yoshimo and see if we can't make something meaningful of these little trials. Maybe Yoshimo can borrow a leaf out of Sarevok's book, will a bit of help from yours truly, hmm? Oh, and that beholder – what was his name? The Spectator? I think he should be present too. Liven things up a bit. And why don't we bring Aliana back here too and Gorion; let them have a little heart to heart, see who was actually telling the truth. That would make for a much better trial than pragmatism over idealism, wouldn't you agree? If I wanted to go through that again, I'd put Aerie and Korgan in a room, take away their weapons and throw away the key.

"Also, which room did I park the planar sphere in? Was it chamber one or two? Heh, do you remember the look on Sarevok's face when we summoned that thing here? What was I doing again?"

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**A/N: While I've had a great deal of fun writing this, I feel that things have reached their natural course. I am happy to write another 'season' of "Woulda-Coulda-Shoulda", but for now, at least, I think we're done. However! If you have any ideas for the series you'd like to see in the same vein, please do drop me a line. I'd love to hear from you and I hope you've had as much fun reading this as I have writing this.**

**-LttP.**


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